


Hard Candy

by WhoopsOK



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, Pegging, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: Clint has always had her, they’ve always been each other’s over anybody else’s and she’s giving him one more way to be with her. He’s grabbing that with both hands, details notwithstanding.Natasha isn’t opposed to sex, but she is exclusively a top. That suits Clint just fine.Theoretically, anyway.(Natasha is some flavor of stone top/gray-sexual and Clint is willing to try anything once.)
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 19
Kudos: 65





	Hard Candy

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Friday!
> 
> So! I planned out/half-wrote all 31 days of kinktober in 2018, but only posted 23 (most not on time) because the rest weren’t done. Now, there are 29 done and I’m posting them during NaNo for some of that sweet, sweet “dude, you’re an ok writer and someone will like your stuff, keep writing” validation to fuel me.
> 
> Belated Kinktober Day 24: Pegging, (sort of leather and shower, too)

It’s one hundred and fuck degrees out when Natasha finally mentions it outright.

There’s never been a discussion about any sort of exclusivity, they’ve barely put a name to what they are at all beyond knowing they’re each other’s. Still, Clint has turned down anyone that’s come his way since they got together. Whether she ever meant to ask it or not, he’s not interested in anyone else. Even if that means he spends more time entertaining his own hand as of late.

Clint has always known what sex means to Natasha. Most importantly, that it was in no way equivalent to what _Clint _means to Natasha. He’s in no way conflicted about this, honestly every sort of thrilled to be in a relationship with her, period.

Maybe he should’ve asked about it, though, because apparently it’s a thought that’s been festering. Natasha is talking at him blankly, like she’s giving a brief about a mission she’d rather let someone read a report about and never actually discuss.

Staring in shock, Clint realizes the way she’s talking about herself—she’s treating this conversation like a chance for him to leave. She isn’t even looking at him; maybe like she doesn’t want to make this hard for him, maybe because she doesn’t want to make this hard for either of them when his disappointment wins. But Clint’s thoughts are so far away from disappointed he can barely hear her. He’s looking at her, sweating through a t-shirt—_his _t-shirt, her legs bare and unshaved in front of her, with her heels resting on his coffee table and thinking, _yes._ He has always had her, they’ve always been each other’s over anybody else’s and she’s giving him one more way to be with her. He’s grabbing that with both hands, details notwithstanding.

Natasha isn’t opposed to sex, but she is exclusively a top. That suits Clint just fine.

Theoretically, anyway.

“You know, I never actually done that before,” Clint says and when Natasha turns to him, the flicker of confusion she lets him see in her eyes makes him shrug. “Catching over pitching.”

“I know,” Natasha says, but Clint knows her well enough to hear that half-truth. She’d probably given it a 50/50 probability at most. He also loves her for not explaining that hadn’t been what she was suggesting, because he knows damn well it wasn’t. She just stares at him for a long time. “I’ve never actually done it either.”

Clint almost voices his disbelief, but then she’s got her hand between his legs and his voice stalls out. “People want very specific things from Widow,” she says in a sultry voice that would’ve turned him to putty in her hands, had he not understood the point she was making.

“Yeah. But I just want Nat,” Clint says, staying stone still. “Anything you got for me, I’ll take.”

Natasha hums at that, then kisses his cheek, mumbling something in Russian.

“_We have three languages in common, pick one,_” Clint replies in Italian, turning to catch her lips.

“Not tonight,” she replies and that’s—fine. That’s fine, even if it still puts a little twist of anticipation in his stomach. Not tonight means someday, which means—

Which means Clint is going to kiss her tonight and worry about someday when it gets here.

As it turns out, “someday” is a few weeks later when he comes off a good mission keyed up and joking with Steve only for his train of thought to grind to a halt when he sees Natasha.

Oh, she’s always beautiful and gives him all sorts of looks that make his heart flip over in his chest, but she doesn’t usually do it so…

Crossing her leg in the opposite direction, she takes a drink of her—it’s a clear glass and he still doesn’t know what she’s drinking, can’t think past the way she’s _looking at him._ He can feel Steve smirking at him because the more comfortable Steve gets with them, the more he’s a little _shithead_. Even so, Clint can’t even muster up a good response because _Natasha_ is smirking at him, too, and it’s got him _hot_.

“Fury wants a report,” she tells them, “and I have some things to wrap up. See you at the Tower tonight?”

“Sure,” Steve replies easily and Clint croaks.

Natasha pats Clint’s shoulder as she passes and snorts when Clint socks Steve in his stupid, rock-hard shoulder for laughing at him.

Rushing won’t actually make tonight come any faster, but Clint talks a little too fast in the briefing. Like he’s trying to make up for Steve doing his best to draw out his explanations to absurd, rambling-grandpa lengths. Fury gets sick of them after fifteen minutes and kicks them out, just glad to not have a shit show to clean up for once. Clint makes himself breathe and takes his time through stripping and dropping off his weapons, but almost jogs to leave his report on Coulson’s desk. He has never timed his bathroom breaks more carefully in his whole life before today.

At the tower, he’s already in the shower when Natasha finally joins him. “You’re not subtle.”

“You don’t like me for my subtlety,” he retorts, scrubbing shampoo into his hair, consciously not looking at the lube on the edge of the sink.

Natasha grabs it instantly, though. “No, I guess not.” She slides between him and the showerhead to wash her own hair. The chatter that passes between them isn’t stilted, but Natasha is clearly—at least partly—using it to make fun of him a little. She doesn’t tease him long, just long enough for him to get the shampoo out of his eyes.

Clint is embarrassingly glad she wasn’t in here to watch him soap up his ass, but he’s also glad he did so when her hands make a slow descent down his back. He feels his heart stumble in his chest when she reaches his hips, thumbs rubbing at the top of his ass. She kisses his shoulder. “Do you want to try?”

“Yes,” Clint answers, shutting off the water, turning to kiss her.

Clint does a sloppy job of drying himself off, but hell, his sheets can stand to get a little damp. And anyway, as soon as he feels the chill of the air conditioner, Natasha is half laid over him, kissing him. Even though her hand smooths down his chest, it still comes as a surprise when she takes his arousal in hand. For a while, that’s all it is; Natasha casually pulling him off as they kiss. Still, it’s _Natasha touching him at all_ and Clint is embarrassingly weak on her. He can’t keep still and honestly isn’t doing a stellar job of keeping quiet, either.

Not that Natasha minds, of course. She looks like a cat that just found a particularly fat canary.

“Can I finger you first?” Natasha asks, trailing her hand down past his balls.

“Y—” Clint knows the sound he just made wasn’t particularly coherent, tries to focus past the arousal singing through his core. “I think I’d prefer that, yeah.”

Natasha kisses him. “On your stomach or your back?”

Clint takes a moment to think on that. “Back,” he says, because he wants to keep his eyes on her, can’t imagine wanting—or being able—to hide his arousal from her. She looks down at him as they shift and he feels pinned by her gaze, shimmies with anticipation as she adjusts his legs around her. Settled, she pops open his lube—_he’s been using that just to jerk off, look how far we’ve come_—and pauses.

“If you don’t like it…”

“I’ll say,” he assures her. “This is icing, not the cake.”

That makes her roll her eyes, but she does move on with slicking up her fingers. He reflexively tenses when her fingers circle his rim. She watches him, waits until he relaxes, then waits more until he’s just about to open his mouth to goad her on before pressing her slender finger into his hole. The slick, warm slide has his mouth falling open in shock, his skin suddenly tingling all over at the sensation. Whatever he may have thought before about this being clinical fades, the intimacy of letting someone _inside _steals his breath almost as much as the intense way Natasha is watching her fingers.

It’s… a _damn _weird sensation, actually.

“That’s, uh…” Clint’s voice comes out all shivery, but she correctly reads it as a good reaction and doesn’t stop. “That’s different.”

Natasha snorts, pressing her finger in a little deeper so her knuckle presses snug up against him. “You _did_ say you’d never played this base before.”

“Yeah, but—” his voice does an odd little rollercoaster of a sound before he can stop it when she presses the tip of her second finger in. It doesn’t quite hurt, but the stretch is different and he’s suddenly worried about shitting her fingers out. That doesn’t wind up happening, as she keeps her hand firmly in place. “But people _do_. Have you ever…?”

“No.” Something on his face makes her eyes go soft when she returns her gaze to his. “But you’re doing great,” she tells him, smirking when the compliment makes him roll his eyes and blush. “And I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, I kn—” Clint doesn’t _quite_ shout, but his voice does yank upwards when her fingers gently curl up, sending pleasure spiking through his whole body. “Ohh _okayyy_…” he groans, spreading his legs, unsure of if he wants to push back or pull away. That’s what all the hype is about, then.

“Good?” she says, leaning across him to kiss his throat. “More or less?”

Clint hasn’t got a fucking clue. The feeling is the kind of “a lot” that straddles the line between too much and not enough. He wants to tell her _both_ but even with his brain shot to hell, pleasure roiling through his body, he knows that wouldn’t help either of them. “_Don’t stop,_” he gasps out, shocked at how desperate he sounds.

Natasha’s eyes flare bright as she cranes up to kiss him breathless as he hums and groans at the careful circling of her fingers. It’s so good, it’s stirring him all up inside as he rocks himself down onto her hand, fluttering and clenching around her as the pressure in his groin mounts. He’s so hard, almost painfully so but he can barely string two thoughts together, let alone say them out loud. He’s gone all slick and slack around her, thinking then that—_fuck, wow_—he actually wants her to fuck him so bad it’s making him stupid. The thought alone of something bigger stretching him, something harder pressing against—

“Hey, Nat,” he starts.

“Yes, Clint?”

“If you don’t stop, I’m gonna come,” he says urgently, because the thought alone has put him so close to the edge he’s biting his cheek to come back from it. His breath shudders out unsteadily when she stops, withdrawing her fingers.

“Do you want to keep going?” she asks with a smirk, wiping her hand on his discarded towel.

Clint would’ve said yes out of sheer curiosity before, but now his “Yeah, Nat,” isn’t nearly as casual as he meant for it to be. He’s not quite shaking with it or anything, but the desire he’s feeling nearly has him squirming. The look on her face is unusually open, lets him plainly see her pleased surprise. When she kisses him, it feels a little like a thank you. “The smallest one, please. Be gentle with my virgin b—”

“Shut up or I might change my mind,” Natasha threatens, before rolling off the bed to rifle through her bag.

Natasha always looks good in leather, even now—_especially _now, with a glossy purple dildo jutting out from her harness.

It should be alarming how easily Clint splays out for her. It doesn’t even occur to him to think about it as he lets his hands fall away from where he’d been absently stroking himself. She kneels between his legs and he sets his feet on the bed, leaning up into her kiss.

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” she says gently.

“Icing not cake,” he says again, “I won’t let you hurt me.” And he absolutely means it, but there is a weird twist of nerves in his stomach watching her spread lube over her cock. _Her cock,_ the thought hits him blearily and winds his nerves with _heat._ He breathes out hard at the feeling, then again when the plastic nudges against his hole.

There’s a moment where it feels like it just _will not_ go in, there’s no way it possibly could, but then with a smooth plastic slide, she’s pushing into him, slowly but unhesitatingly. Clint’s mouth drops open and freezes there at the feeling, eyes wide as he watches their hips come together. He can’t stop the weak sound that sneaks out as she gently rocks back and forth, steadily deeper. “Oh, _fuck…_” he groans, clenching around her and jerking his hips when that intensifies the sensation. “_Nat, fuck…_”

“Yeah?” Natasha replies, voice syrupy and he looks up to find her staring right at him, eyes wide and dark. She takes her hand away from where she was guiding the toy in and hangs on—digs her nails into his hip. “Good?”

Clint’s heart throbs in his chest. “_Yeah, yeah,_” he answers, gasping out loud when she thrusts her hips a little more firmly. “Nat, _fuck_, don’t stop, it’s good, please,” he says, almost on a loop as she starts moving more steadily. She kisses the words out of his mouth, drags her lips across his stubble to whisper “_Yes, Clint, good boy, all mine,_” in his ear. He is not the type to whine, wouldn’t quite call the sounds he’s making whimpers, but they’re close enough that he’d be embarrassed if he could bother to feel anything but this and _Her_. He can feel the static building along his nerves, every stroke sending him closer to the edge. If he lets go of her shoulders he might shake apart, but he can’t help but close a hand around himself. His breath nearly comes out on a sob.

“Natasha,” he says, the same franticness from before coming back. “Babe, I’m gonna—I’m so—_oh!_” She changes angles slightly and it’s so good his vision spots for a moment. It’s all he can do to breathe, pleasure spooling out from inside him, magnified by his grip on his streaming cock.

“Are you gonna come on my dick, Clint?” she asks, nearly conversationally.

Clint strokes himself twice before he’s coming, head thrown back and eyes wide and unseeing.

“Good, good, Clint, you’re so perfect,” Natasha whispers, fucking him through it and kissing his slack mouth until he comes back to himself, breathing heavy but coordinating his lips to kiss her back. She stills when his hand presses on her hip. “You with me?”

“Barely,” he gasps, shifting and groaning when the hard plastic—it stays _hard_—doesn’t give at all. “_Oh, fuck_.”

Natasha laughs against his lips. “I take it that was a win?”

“You took it alright,” Clint replies drowsily, shuddering all down his body when she pulls out, _geez_, that’s still weird. He feels empty and fucked out and… “Well, shit,” he laughs, rubbing his head, “I think I like getting fucked.” Little late to learn that kind of shit about himself, but well, life is funny like that, isn’t it?

Natasha smirks slightly, cocking an eyebrow. “Just think?”

Clint smirks at her. “Hey, I got a Stark Junior Scientist badge, I know the rules,” he replies. “Gotta gather more, uh, empirical evidence.”

“Are you proud of yourself for remembering that word?”

“Hey, that’s not even a hard word!”

“What’s it mean?”

“It means—” He definitely knows the answer, but gets sidetracked by a different thought when Natasha unstraps the harness and he sees she’s slick between her legs. He should’ve asked before he was already naked and buzzing with pleasure, but he looks up at her. “It means: can I make you come?”

Natasha snorts like she thinks he’s awful and she loves that about him, but does turn to consider him for a moment. He lets her look without fidgeting, waits for her to decide. “Your fingers on my clit only,” she says and _yes._

Clint does not have clumsy fingers.

Lying next to her, Clint throws a leg over hers, presses up against her side, sighing when she turns to kiss him. He feels her stomach jump when his hand lands there, but she’s far too dignified to acknowledge she’s ticklish, bites his lip when he chuckles at her. When his fingers slide down to find her arousal, already damp, she gasps into his mouth and his head spins with want. He listens to her, wishes he could mentally record the way her breathing changes when she’s actually getting off, the way she says, “To the left, Clint, yeah, _Clint, _can you go faster?” He can and does and her legs spread for him and she grips his wrist, writhing, trusting him enough to get lost in her own toe-curling pleasure.

“Beautiful, Nat, wanna make you feel good.” Clint’s wrist nearly cramps and he literally does not give a single shit, because Natasha is fucking beautiful when she’s coming, face flush and eyes glassy. That look doesn’t last long, but when she clenches her thighs around his hand and he stills, lets her rock gently against his fingers. He’s marveling at just being allowed to hold her like this and she seems to marvel at being held.

The brief marveling and moony gazing makes them both snort, laughing at themselves, before they’re kissing and making vague noises about cleaning up and going to bed. Clint stays dopey and red in the face the rest of the night and Natasha keeps the satisfied smirk on her face well into the next day when she notices the new, slight twist in Clint’s gait.

They get looks and a few cheeky comments, but that’s fine.

Nobody’s brave enough to ask any questions.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading…reminder to shower and sleep, if it’s been a while!
> 
> (Unsexy reminders: Put condoms on your toys if you share them!)


End file.
